He is dying out of boredom
by TheStardust
Summary: Sherlock seems to be dying and John is helpless because he doesn't know what exactly is going on. Sherlock asks John to do a favor for him but John cannot see how it will help Sherlock- loosely based on one of the original sherlock holmes adventures.
1. Going to go get some biscuits

Flashback 1

221B Baker Street. Early morning. John is coming in from a morning walk- a new health regime he added recently. He couldn't talk Sherlock into it though. Every time he start on the subject, Sherlock suddenly becomes hard of hearing and says "sorry what?" in a perfect imitation of John, so he gave up.

Mrs. Hudson is in a good mood, boiling water for tea.

"Morning Mrs. Hudson!" said John.

"Oh! John. Back already? Morning! Just making tea for you boys, I won't be long" replied Mrs. Hudson in her cheery voice.

"Oh thanks!" said John, going up the stairs.

Sherlock is sitting very straight on the sofa, fingertips together, staring at the wall opposite, motionless.

"Everything alright?" asked John trying to make conversation.

No response.

"Ok" said John, seeing there's no point. He fumbles about, looking for something to do.

Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty. Sherlock hasn't moved an inch.

"Ahh, Sherlock?" called John, unsure.

No response.

"Sherlock!" he called a little louder, getting up.

"What?" replied Sherlock, even louder, not bothering to look up.

"Oh good! Just checking if you're still alive" said John, sitting beside Sherlock.

"New case?" asked John, interested.

"Case. What case?" asked Sherlock, still staring at the wall.

"Just curious. What case would require you to become inanimate?" asked John.

Sherlock turned his head, finally looking at John, gives him an animated look.

"okay, no case. So what exactly were you trying to accomplish by impersonating a statue if you are not thinking over a case?" asked John.

Sherlock stands up suddenly, "I am in the process of starting to get bored."

"What?" John looks alarmed, stands up too.

"And stop saying "what" when you know you have heard it perfectly" said Sherlock, already getting into the dreaded mood.

John looks around, frantically looking for something to engage Sherlock into. Sees the violin on the table, grabs it and passed it to Sherlock, "How about composing something, good time for composing, its early morning?"

"Get it out of my sight, I might be tempted to break it" said Sherlock.

"Cigarettes?" asked John, passing a pack.

"Nope" replied Sherlock, pacing the room.

"Okay Cluedo?" said John, with a dreaded look.

"What about Cluedo?" asked Sherlock, still pacing.

"Let's play Cluedo," said John with a deep breath.

Sherlock stop pacing and looked at John, "What? Play Cluedo? Why? You hate it. You said you were never going to play it again"

"Well between Cluedo and "a-bored-you", I'd take Cluedo anytime. Not really ready to go through another round of shooting on the wall, severed head in the fridge, whatsoever," said John.

"Well, clearly, you are concerned, but no thanks, not interested, I need a real case. I didn't have a case the whole day yesterday, can't let that happen today, how can I lay idle when there's so much I could do, I can't let my brain go idle, I might get used to it." says Sherlock in one breathe.

"I don't think your brain will die if you don't have a case for two days."said John, heading for the door.

"Is the universe dead already? There must be something going on, something that deserves my attention. Didn't Mycroft always say "the Universe is hardly lazy"? Oh 'hardly', meaning it can be lazy sometimes, and it is being lazy right now. Where are you going, didn't you just came in?" asked Sherlock, with an exasperated look.

"Amm, I'm going to go get some biscuits from the shops to go with Mrs. Hudson's tea." said John walking out of the room.

"Biscuits?! That's what you are going to go get in the whole wide world, get me a case on the way" shouts Sherlock as John flies down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson is just about to take the stairs with a tea tray. She stops seeing John coming down the stairs. "Where are you going, didn't you just came in?"

"Fleeing a potential crime scene, maybe you should pass with the tea if you want to get through the morning alive." said John.

"What are you blabbing about?" asked .

"He is BORED!" said John.

"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Hudson, hesitating on the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" came down Sherlock's voice. There's a loud crash. "Are you dead too, where is everyone?"

"Take my advice; stay clear of the living room until he's on a case." said John.

"Mrs. Hudson! Where is my revolver, did you hide my revolver?!" called down Sherlock.

"Oh! no Sherlock dear! Why would I do that, when did you ever let me touch your things?" answered Mrs. Hudson, looking terrified.

"Don't worry, he won't be using it this time" said John, patting his right pocket.

"And honestly I don't think he's in mood for tea right now" he added.

"Where were you going again?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Nowhere. I'm just going to go browse for biscuits until the world is a safe place again!", replied John as he goes out the door.

John closed the door behind him and continued down the streets hoping he'll find 221B Baker Street in one piece when he comes back.

**[There will be three chapters, the next one will be up soon!]**


	2. You are worrying me a little now

_Flashback 2_

It is four months after John's marriage. Mrs. Hudson stood in front of John's door at 5'o clock in the evening, looking very disturbed.

John opened the door, greeting Mrs. Hudson with a surprise note in his voice,

"Hello Mrs. Hudson! What brings you..", then he stops, seeing the look on her face and continued in a different tone "Is everything alright, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh! I'm afraid not John. Sherlock is not himself. You must come immediately" was Mrs. Hudson's agitated reply.

Without losing a minute, John rushed inside to grab his jacket and immediately followed Mrs. Hudson to Baker Street.

John rushed up the all too familiar staircase and then stopped at the living room door, his hands at the door handle. He had heard something, Sherlock's voice. _Is he talking to himself?_ He listened intently. No, Sherlock is not talking to himself, he seem to be humming something. He had never heard Sherlock sing or hum before. He could make out the words now as he leaned in towards the door. They sound something like "_it's raining, it's boring, I'm dying_". But there was something off about his voice, it seems weak and muffled.

John finally pushed open the door and took in the scene in front of him. Sherlock lay stretched on the sofa, his face buried into a pillow. The living room looks even more untidy than usual. All things lie here and there in disarray. Clearly the room hasn't been attended to for many days.

"Sherlock?" called John uncertain, still standing at the door.

Sherlock slowly turned his face towards John and answered in a weak voice, although with a tinge of his usual tone of carelessness "Oh! Hello John."

John startled and took an involuntary step back. Sherlock was a mess, his face was extremely pale, his already sharp features seem to protrude through his skin, he had obviously loss a lot of weight, his lips look dry and flaky and his forehead was covered in sweat, some of his curly fringe matted in with the sweat on his forehead. It was a dreadful sight.

"Sherlock! What the hell happened to you?" exclaimed John trying to keep his voice calm.

Sherlock had buried his face back into the pillow and said in a shaky, muffled voice

"I'm bored John, I think boredom is killing me."

John couldn't believe his ears. "No Sherlock, I don't think you are bored. I think you are sick, very sick."

"Oh yeah that too, but mostly bored" replied Sherlock in that same shaky feverish voice.

"He has been like that for days, talking nonsense, he hasn't eaten anything and havn't moved from the couch", Mrs. Hudson said in a meek voice, peeking at Sherlock from behind John.

"Mrs. Hudson you talk a lot. I think you are done here. Thank you." said Sherlock.

She cast a nervous, frightened look towards John and dashed out of the room.

John didn't know what to say and tries to sound sarcastic rather than gravely worried,

"If you're sick, you need to see a doctor, that's what people do when they get sick. Or have you deleted that common sense from your head too? Why didn't you call me?" asked John as he makes to cross the room.

At that moment, Sherlock jerked up his head suddenly and said in a serious, high voice, or as high as he could manage

"No don't! Stop! Don't come near me"

"What?!"

"You heard me"

"This is ridiculous!"

"Listen John..."

"No, you listen to me. You are bloody sick. I don't know what you are thinking but you seriously need to see a doctor. Let me see what's wrong with you."

"You cannot help me", replied Sherlock in a dejected voice.

"I don't understand", said John.

Sherlock plopped his head back onto the pillow. His action of stoping John from crossing the room seems to have exhausted him. He was breathing very fast and looked like he is about to faint any second. John had never seen him so weak before and it was starting to really bother him. Something was seriously wrong with Sherlock.

" You are right. I'm sick, John. But you cannot help me because it's not something in the realm of your knowledge. I'm infected with a rare disease, a kind of fever, and it's contagious. So please don't come near me or you'll get it too," he finished with some effort.

"What rare disease? I don't even know if you are talking sense or not. You're not yourself" John said with an air of uncertainty.

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, he took in a few more breathes with some effort and ignoring John's whims, he asked "Will you do me a favour?"

"What favour?"

"There is only one person in London who can save me now. If you really want to help me, bring me the one person who can help me."

"Who?"

"Mr. Baron Smith. 13 Lower Burke Street. That's the man I need."

"You need to see a doctor, Sherlock"

"I know exactly who I need to see right now"

"This is.."

" Not as crazy as you think. I promise"

Sherlock stopped again to take in a few breaths and then continued in the same low, feverish voice.

"Now listen very carefully John. You need to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"

"Yes, what choice do I have"

"Go to the address I gave you and introduce yourself as yourself- Dr. John Watson- that is. Request Mr. Smith to come and see Mr. Shezza Johnson- that's my name for today- at 221 B Baker Street immediately. Tell him that Mr. Shezza seem to have a strange kind of fever that you are finding it difficult to treat and that someone had recommended to go to him. Tell him my symptoms and the severity of my condition and beg him to come as soon as possible. Clear so far?" asked Sherlock.

"Yes" replied John wondering vaguely how Sherlock manages to be so irritatingly commanding even in his weak condition.

" When you have convinced him to come see me, make an excuse saying that you would have like to come with him and see through the treatment but that you have got another patient to call upon and therefore couldn't accompany him to Baker Street" continued Sherlock, "and then go back home and get some sleep" he ended abruptly.

"what? " John started but then giving up he asked instead, "Is there any point at all asking why I cannot come back here with this Smith person?" asked John, sounding slightly exasperated in spite of himself.

"No" said Sherlock simply.

John has a lot of questions in his head and he sincerely doubt if the fever hadn't fiddled with Sherlock's mind. But one more look at Sherlock and he knew it best to do the only thing he was allowed to do at the moment. He knew arguing with Sherlock is pointless and will only waste time. If Sherlock thinks that this man- Mr. Smith- could save his life, then who is he to doubt him. After all, his experience had taught him that it's always wise to follow Sherlock's words, however strange or bizarre they may sound. So John made up his mind and giving one last look at the fragile frame of his best friend, he made for the door. When he reached the door, however, he turned back and said softly " I'll see you tomorrow then".

Sherlock had buried his face back into the pillow and his reply was muffled again "right" he said.

John closed the door slowly behind him and walked down the stairs with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Outside, the evening was becoming darker. He hailed a cab and said "13 Lower Burke Street".

**A/N: What do you think of the story so far?**


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